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Spangled together
Sitting in bed and chills rippling up and down
The feel of tousled sheets on bare legs
A bedside stack of wobbling books
Your smile shaky as you peer up
Your teeth milky and sharp
All these contradictions
Make you a whole
As I splinter
Beneath
You.
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I will hold you: everything’s going to be fine. I will whisper: It won’t always be like this.
Franz Wright, from To Myself (via violentwavesofemotion)
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The main thing is to write for the joy of it. Cultivate a work-lust that imagines its haven like your hands at night, dreaming the sun in the sunspot of a breast. You are fasted now, light-headed, dangerous. Take off from here. And don’t be so earnest.
Seamus Heaney, Irish Poet of Soil and Strife, Dies - NYTimes.com (via thelifeguardlibrarian)
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The Book Thief (2013). X
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sexuality is(not) a big deal
i'm so frustrated i could cry. one of my best friends has just moved to nyc and is having a crisis in the sense that she's never felt so much for a girl before. she's one of the most open-minded, confident, intelligent, loving people i've ever met and the fact that she's been freaking out makes me so upset because no one should be freaking out about their sexuality.
the whole situation has just reinforced the fact that we still live in a heteronormative society irrespective of the progress that's been made. gay marriage is still not legal here in australia, nor the majority of the world. love is love and if people can't love they hate. i am so angry that sexuality is a concept where crisis is almost unanimously linked in when that sexuality is not heterosexual. the confusion that arises over it when someone finds they're not attracted to the opposite gender - i find it absolutely devastating because it isn't necessary, or at least it shouldn't be. 
this whole sense of pride that i'm feeling for her for telling me at all - i think she is so brave and yes, this is positive, but there shouldn't be that sense of pride at all because sexuallity should not be so focal. 
i can't wait for the day when there is no need to "come out" and sexuality isn't such a source of anguish when it deviates from the "norm." 
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on my father
it's father's day today (or was one hour ago, but technicalities) and i didn't want to say it. say happy fathers day with an empty voice and empty eyes. i am so angry with him and most of the time i feel that he is my father only in the sense of biology. is this too cruel? he doesn't care - i don't think he knows how to. he's sending mum to an early grave and as a child i remember wishing with all my heart that they would get a divorce so we could move on and be happy. i still want that - there is no love left in my parent's marriage and my mum being in this situation for years is beyond devastating. 
i'm not sure if this makes sense. this "celebration" has brought out the worst in me because i didn't want to say false words to a man who does not care or love, and thereby live. 
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we are all made of star dust
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the day america got what it fantasised about
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August 13, 2013
"and God knows I’m not dying but I bleed now"
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Scheherazade
Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake
                                                           and dress them in warm clothes again.
     How it was late, and no one could sleep, the horses running
until they forget that they are horses. 
              It's not like a tree where the roots have to end somewhere, 
       it's more like a song on a policeman's radio, 
                     how we rolled up the carpet so we could dance, and the days
were bright red, and every time we kissed there was another apple
                                                                                           to slice into pieces. 
Look at the light through the windowpane. That means it's noon, that means
     we're inconsolable. 
                                          Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us. 
These, our bodies, possessed by light. 
                                                                Tell me we'll never get used to it. 
                                                                                              Richard Siken 
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AFROLINDAJOYAS
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I think that whatever I do is my business. I do it because if I don’t I’m finished. I’m selfish: I do it for myself to save what is left of myself.
Charles Bukowski, from Fame (via violentwavesofemotion)
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the first post
this blog is for me. i've become so accustomed to writing and doing things for other people that i'm forgetting it doesn't have to be like that. there are times when i want to ruin people, things, cities, myself - and times where the phrase bursting with happiness seems as though it could become a reality. i always wanted to become a writer and dismissed it, but here i am proving myself wrong. i can write for myself, then look back on it and laugh or cringe or weep and maybe even regret, but that is better than never remembering at all. 
note to self: i can be personal - i am a person - hence personal. all those barriers i've built up need to be broken down a little because i'm scared of giving too many pieces of myself away, but i'm more scared that the walls will build up so high that i don't even have the option. 
this vaguely makes sense. if not, fuck it. post one this is. 
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